So Lucky

by Dawn O'Porter

  Michael says nothing.

  ‘It’s good for the big babies. They need it. I didn’t breast feed Michael,’ she says. I know this because she brings it up a lot. Every time we see her, in fact. It isn’t normal for a mother of a forty-four-year-old man to repeatedly talk about not breast feeding him. I think she feels terrible about it and has spent Michael’s entire life trying to make up for it by being extremely overpowering and offering regular foot massages.

  ‘Michael, we didn’t discuss this? I’ve been pumping like a mad woman to keep the supply up. There’s still a load in the freezer, why are you giving him formula? NO, Janet, get that bottle out of his mouth. Is that the first one or has he been having it without me knowing?’ I ask.

  ‘First one,’ Michael tells me, and I feel relief that I intercepted at exactly the right moment.

  Tommy starts to cry. I made him jump and he is starving. Janet hyperventilates like I’ve attacked her. ‘Michael,’ she screeches. I didn’t even touch her.

  ‘We said we would keep going with breast feeding until he was six months. I’m happy to keep pumping, why aren’t you happy to keep giving it to him?’ I ask Michael. He looks like a bullied kid, being forced into admitting to something by a strict teacher. ‘My maternity leave is coming up. I want to breast feed my baby when I’m not working in a few weeks. Can we not just stick to the plan, it’s all that’s getting me through being away from Tommy this much?’

  ‘I never breast fed any of my children and they are all perfectly fine,’ Janet says, getting her breath back.

  ‘Are they though?’ I snap. Wanting to explain to her how monumentally fucked-up her son is, but managing to hold myself back. ‘Well, this is not your baby,’ I say, more gently, taking Tommy out of her arms. I sit on the sofa, undo my shirt and feed him. I’m trembling, I am so cross. Janet walks over to me and drapes a blanket over my shoulder.

  ‘There you go,’ she says. ‘To protect your modesty.’

  I rip it off immediately. She snarls at me but turns it into a passive-aggressive smile.

  ‘I just didn’t want you to feel exposed, I can see you’re not back to your pre-baby self yet. Mind you, you’ve always been a little bit …’ Instead of words, she uses her hands to speak for her. And in the air draws the outline of a very curvaceous body.

  ‘I’m quite proud of my curves, thank you,’ I say, unsnapping the other bra strap, letting my other boob flop free. I sit feeding my baby right in front of both of them. Both of my breasts out and in plain sight. I am in my own home, this is my baby. If they want to have a problem with my body then they can go and sit outside.

  There are a few moments of silence. Tommy’s guzzling noises are all we can hear. But I’m not finished.

  ‘You can’t make decisions like that without me, Michael. It isn’t fair,’ I say.

  ‘Isn’t fair?’ Janet says, ready to fight. ‘Do you think it’s fair to abandon your baby immediately after he’s born?’

  ‘I have not abandoned him, I’m working.’

  ‘Poor Michael, having to do all of this on his own. That isn’t fair,’ she says, in a baby voice, laying her hand on his shoulder, like a supportive lover.

  ‘Oh, but if it was me sacrificing my business, that would be fair?’

  ‘You are his mother. It’s your job.’

  Janet is the antithesis of a feminist. Misogynistic women are worse than any man. Literally fighting against their own kind. It takes a whole other level of arsehole to pull that off.

  ‘Some of us have lives beyond our children, Janet. In the long run it will mean they’re better off.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she says, aghast.

  ‘Beth, come on. Mum just came round to see Tommy,’ Michael says desperately. He cannot handle confrontation with his mother. He is terrified of her. I am not. If ‘the worst’ happened and we fall out and she never wanted to see me again, fine. That is not a situation I fear. In the meantime, to bridge the gap between that beautiful day and now, I will not be taking parenting advice from someone I consider to be a terrible example.

  ‘I mean, she was just a mum. She never worked. She doesn’t understand balancing a career and a child,’ I say to Michael, deliberately going for the jugular. Michael looks like he might have a breakdown.

  ‘Your style of parenting is very different to mine, Janet. I have a successful business. I am the main breadwinner in our family and that is something Michael and I are both very proud of. Right Michael?’

  The two women in his life stare at him, both needing his approval. I always suspected he slagged me off to her; now I am certain. He’s been whining about the childcare. How dare he? I am doing my absolute best.

  ‘Just a mum? Just a mum?’ Janet says, her crocodile tears appearing.

  I feel guilty. Because this is what she does. She makes people feel guilty and fundamentally I am a nice person who hates confrontation.

  ‘Look, I’ll feed him then go back to work. But please, don’t give him formula, OK? There’s plenty of breast milk. If it makes you feel weird to give it to him then, Michael, can you just do it?’

  He nods. I lift Tommy up and take him into the other room and feed him privately.

  I feel so let down by Michael. Made to feel selfish and cruel. How dare he moan about all of this to his mother? It is such a betrayal.

  Arriving back at the office, I feel upset that I was pretty much forced to leave my own house. I was excited to spend the time with Tommy, but the truth is, it’s too confusing for everyone if I try to mould work and motherhood together right now. I just need to get this wedding out of the way, and then I’ll be able to be with my baby. Alone. No Michael, no Janet. Head down, power on. I can do this.

  As I walk up the stairs to the office I hear Risky groaning. There is a thumping sound. I run to the door. Is she being attacked, bludgeoned to death in the office? I burst in.

  ‘What the hell?’

  Risky is on my desk, her jeans on the floor and her crop top round her neck. She’s having sex with Gavin’s brother. It’s so weird, I can’t do anything but stare. It’s like walking in on someone else’s dream.

  ‘Beth!’ she screeches, pushing him away and gathering her clothes. Gavin’s brother, Adam, zips himself up as Risky frantically gets dressed. Her face flushed, her little boobs staring at me like frightened children. Adam scrambles to dress himself, then picks up the cake toppers from the side. He turns back to Risky, and politely kisses her on the cheek before he leaves.

  ‘Sorry. Not cool,’ he says to me as he goes to leave. But not before turning back and winking at Risky one last time. Absolutely none of this makes any sense.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘No,’ I snap.

  Risky has been doing her best to be a good employee this afternoon, but I can’t even look at her. I saw Gavin’s brother’s penis come out of her. I saw it glistening as he pulled up his trousers. Yesterday, she was my sweet, romantic, slightly ditsy assistant. Sure, with a penchant for anal but I never thought she was the type to shag a client’s brother on my desk. What the hell was she thinking?

  And yet, I get it.

  ‘Beth, please let me explain,’ she says, desperately. ‘I really love this job and I …’

  ‘Oh, I know you do,’ I say, like a teacher. ‘You love it so much you rubbed your vagina all over the contracts.’ I pick up a piece of paper from my desk with two fingers, like it is laced with something dangerous.

  I’m acting like I’m really annoyed. In a way, I am. She is in breach of contract, I could sack her. But mostly, I am jealous as hell. I want to ask her how it felt. It looked so good. Her face, lost in pleasure. His penis, lost in her. Both of them so beautiful, the sex so lustful. A part of me wishes I’d been quiet, just watched and captured a memory for myself like in the park. But this time with beautiful people, actually worth wanking over.

  But I am her boss, it is my job to be annoyed.

  Also, I cannot involve my assistant
in my fantasies. That simply is not OK.

  ‘Are you going to fire me?’ she asks, fearfully. I wait a few beats to answer, to keep my authority established.

  ‘It’s lucky for you that this wedding is coming up. I can’t do without you right now. Let’s get the job done, and the job done well, and then I will have a look at how we move forward. OK?’

  ‘OK.’ She turns and walks back to her desk with her head slightly drooped. An email pops up a few seconds later.

  I am really sorry, boss. It’s just that I’ve been feeling so insecure about this guy I’m seeing, and how he just wants anal. My vagina needed some love too, you know?

  Oh, I know very well what it feels like when your vagina needs love, but I can’t tell her that. We sit in silence as she waits for a response. I leave it as long as I can.

  ‘For God’s sake, Risky. What do you think, you have to live up to your name?’ I say, coming out from behind my desk and heading over to hers. ‘Adam is our client’s brother. He is Gavin’s best man. He could tell Gavin about this, which really wouldn’t be good for my business. It will sound like it’s part of the service.’

  ‘I know. But he came in here and was so sweet. He said Gavin had told him about me. I mean, Gavin Riley had talked about me? It made me feel so beautiful. I had the cake toppers in my hand and then next thing I knew we were kissing. He’s so fit.’

  ‘You cannot sleep with all the handsome best men that we work with, OK?’

  ‘I know but he’s Gavin Riley’s brother. I was star-struck. He was begging me for sex and I …’

  ‘He begged you?’

  ‘OK, no, he didn’t need to beg. I mean, he just looked at me and maybe I …’

  ‘Maybe you what?’

  ‘Maybe I kind of jumped him.’

  ‘You jumped him?’

  ‘Yes. I saw an opportunity and I just took it. I mean, who wouldn’t?’

  ‘Um, um …’ I say. ‘Someone who takes their work seriously?’

  Risky looks devastated. ‘I’m sorry, boss. It won’t happen again, OK? Please, I don’t know what came over me.’

  ‘I know exactly what was about to come all over you,’ I say, heading back to my desk and trying to seem nonchalant. ‘So … how do you jump someone then?’ I ask, as I pick up some contracts and pretend to look through them.

  ‘You just, launch yourself at them, I suppose. I mean, it’s good to have an idea that they’d be up for it. But he was definitely up for it. So, I just threw myself at him and started kissing him.’

  ‘And then what happened?’

  That’s it, I’ve blown it now. I’ve stepped down from boss to best friend and there is no going back. But I need to know.

  ‘And then we just got down and dirty, I suppose. It’s all about confidence, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it?’ I ask. Thinking about my body and wondering if, after being with the same man for ten years, and having had a baby, I could be confident enough to just ‘jump someone’. Also, what am I thinking? I can’t ‘jump someone’, I have a husband, a baby and milk spouting from my tits. But it’s all I can think about. Sex with strangers. I know I won’t be able to get the image of Risky and Adam out of my head. That’s going to be in my dreams tonight, and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

  ‘Well, please try not to jump anyone else while you’re at work, OK?’

  ‘I won’t.’

  We can’t have been quiet for more than a minute before another email pops up.

  Just to be clear … can I jump him while I’m not at work?

  ‘No Risky. Please. Don’t jump our clients full stop, OK?’ I say, standing up.

  ‘OK. Absolutely boss. No problem.’

  ‘Good. Now, can you find me the contracts for the magicians please?’ I need to double-check they know not to bring any doves. Mayra is scared of birds.’

  ‘Sure boss.’

  She does as I ask. I sit at my desk and wonder if I will ever experience the thrill of spontaneous rampancy ever again. I am pretty sure I won’t with my husband.

  But what if I could with someone else?

  8

  Ruby

  I like to squeeze every avocado and smell every lettuce, which is why online food shopping will never work for me. I take my time selecting my produce. I think that is important when you eat as little as I do. My basic diet consists of boiled eggs, green leafy vegetables, occasional slices of high-quality brown bread, homemade soup and fish. Of course I eat other things, but rarely do I veer far from this list. I buy a much more exciting and child-friendly list of foods for Bonnie – sausages, fish fingers, pizza, I’ve even given her the occasional Pop-Tart. I have two reasons for this. As much as I care for her health, if I offer her anything that doesn’t have melted cheese on it, or come with a sweet sauce, or involve a little icing sugar sprinkled on top, she will throw it on the floor and put herself on hunger strike. And second, I feed her delicious food now because one day she will become a teenage girl, and if she is branded with the same affliction as me, food will become the enemy. And that might take the form of her self-denying, like I do. Or she might overindulge in it, like my mother. Either way, these few years of prepubescent eating will be the best of her life, before vanity, weight management or health inevitably ruin her relationship with food forever.

  Eating ice cream on the beach with my dad is one of my favourite memories. The luscious taste, abundant joy. I can take myself back there if I concentrate hard enough. The sound of the ocean, happy families on the beach. Me and my dad licking our ice creams, catching the drips that run down the cones with our tongues. Not missing a single morsel of the heavenly sensation of our sweet treats or the joy we found in each other. I can still taste the ice cream. For me it was always vanilla, for him chocolate. He’d say, ‘Don’t tell your mum I got you two scoops.’ And I’d keep that secret like a love note stuffed into my pocket. My dad was fun. Somewhere inside of me, his influence still shines.

  On the way home with the shopping, I walk past a little toy shop. I’m generally extremely conservative about the toys I have in the house for Bonnie. I can’t bear it when you walk into homes and wonder if any adults live there at all because of the grotesque amount of child paraphernalia that litters their living space. Bonnie has all the essentials. Lego, books, a small art station, cuddly teddies and a neat kitchen that Liam put together for her at my request. He’s good like that. Very handy. I was upset though, when Bonnie saw it. It was me who had paid for it and researched the perfect one that would suit her need for fun and my need for order. The assembly was going to take hours and so Liam offered to take on the task. When it was done, looking fantastic in the far corner of the living room, Bonnie was thrilled. She hugged her father and thanked him.

  ‘It was Mummy’s idea,’ he said, realising Bonnie was excluding me from her overt display of gratitude. ‘Go give Mummy a hug and say thank you.’

  But she didn’t and wouldn’t, because at two years old she had no care for the importance of ideas or financial transactions. All she saw was her dad huffing and puffing and working to create a toy that she loved. As far as she was concerned, I had nothing to do with it.

  Inside the toy shop, there is a large cuddly mouse. I don’t like it. Even a toy rodent gives me the shivers. But rather than deny my child any more joy off the back of my illogical fears, I pick it up and pay for it. At home, I put it on the kitchen table. Then on the sofa. Then on the coffee table. Nowhere feels right, or exciting enough. Eventually, I put it in her bed. The cuddly mouse tucked under the duvet, its horrible head resting on the pillow. I decide that is the most fun place for Bonnie to discover him.

  After a spinning session on my bike, I shower and pluck my face. The body hair is the worst it could be at the moment. I have a wax appointment booked at a new salon next week, and it can’t come soon enough. I’m nervous about what the technician will be like, but I’m desperate. There is no way I am turning up to Lauren Pearce’s wedding looking like this. I got very hot on
my bike, and despite having a fan aiming directly at me, it was a struggle. I cut the forty-five-minute class by fifteen minutes and had a simple dinner of green vegetables and prawns to make up for it, before continuing my work on the images of Lauren.

  I have her looking as perfect as she asked me to, and I must admit, I’ve quite enjoyed working on her. She has probably never even heard my name, but I play a vital role in her life. Her selfies on Instagram are so staged. The angle she chooses is the edit, really. Not like the shots for a magazine, or the professional pictures that will be taken at the wedding – she needs me for those. I am like her partner in crime, a silent investor keeping her business afloat. I am quite enjoying that power.

  I wonder if she is excited for her wedding or dreading it the way that I was dreading mine. I didn’t want all the attention, I didn’t want such a big event. I knew something would go wrong, I knew it and felt so foolish when it did. I haven’t been as foolish since. The only way to get really hurt is to let people get close to you. I won’t make that mistake again.

  I open the file on my computer called ‘MENSTRUAL DIARY’. In the file, there are also some of my wedding photos; I printed out the only ones I remotely liked. The ones showing us exchanging vows are nice. I look happy, actually very happy. And I was. I thought I’d found the love of my life. Someone I could give as much of myself to as I would ever be willing to give. There are pictures of us holding hands at the drinks reception. I am smiling in most of them. The camera has caught multiple shots of Liam just staring at me. I do believe he loved me. Just not enough that he’d risk breaking our code of trust.

  I open one of the images in Photoshop. It’s of me, standing next to Liam. We are looking into the middle distance. I don’t remember if we were posing, or if there was actually something grabbing our attention. Liam looks so handsome in it. He’s taller than me, which I liked. He has a slim frame, a nice face with a thick black beard and black hair all around an inch or so long. He has dimples that only a select few know are there, as he doesn’t shave very often. We don’t really look like a couple. Or maybe now I just can’t imagine myself in the relationship we had.